The interrogation

Xin and Belial stepped out of The Whispering Web, the dim glow of the bar's neon sign fading behind them. Viktor's words echoed in their minds: *Marcus. Hotel. Sunrise.* The man they were after was close, and time was slipping through their fingers like sand. They had to move quickly.

Viktor had been vague but clear—Marcus was a middleman, a facilitator of deals between Lyon Inc. and the Black market. He wasn't a fighter, nor did he possess any extraordinary abilities. In a world where superpowered individuals ruled the shadows, Marcus was an anomaly—a mundane human who had carved out a niche for himself through cunning and connections. But now, his luck was about to run out.

The two ventured north, their footsteps echoing softly against the cracked pavement of the city's underbelly. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional distant hum of a passing vehicle or the faint rustle of trash caught in the wind. The city was asleep, but its secrets were wide awake.

As they walked, they passed an alleyway that led to a two-story building reduced to rubble. Xin paused, his sharp eyes scanning the structure. Even in its ruined state, he recognized it. This was what remained of his childhood home—a place that had once been filled with warmth and laughter, now reduced to ash and debris. He gestured for Belial to follow, his voice low but firm.

"This was my home," Xin said, his tone tinged with a mixture of nostalgia and bitterness. "Or what's left of it."

Belial followed silently, his eyes scanning the charred remains. The building was a skeleton of its former self, its walls blackened by fire and its roof caved in. Some parts still stood defiantly, stubbornly resisting the passage of time. Xin led the way through the back door, which hung precariously on its hinges. The interior was a haunting reminder of what once was—furniture reduced to ash, walls scorched and crumbling, and the faint scent of smoke still lingering in the air.

Xin moved through the ruins with a quiet reverence, his fingers brushing against the remnants of a life long gone. He showed Belial the café area, where his mother had once served coffee and pastries to the locals. The counter was now a charred husk, the stools overturned and broken. Upstairs, what had once been Xin's room was barely recognizable. The walls were blackened, the floor littered with debris. Among the wreckage, Belial noticed something—broken child-sized guitars, their strings snapped and bodies cracked.

Xin picked up one of the guitars, his expression unreadable. "When I escaped Kingpin's lab," he began, his voice steady but heavy with emotion, "a kind woman found me. She took me in, cared for me as if I were her own. She was my mother in every way that mattered. This place… it was our home. But Kingpin took that from me. He let me go, but not out of mercy. He wanted to see what I would become. I was supposed to be someone else—someone he could control. But I failed him. And now, he's still out there, experimenting on others, destroying lives just to achieve his twisted goals."

Belial placed a hand on Xin's shoulder, his grip firm but comforting. "We'll stop him," he said, his voice low and resolute. "But first, we need to deal with Lyon Inc. They're the key to unraveling Kingpin's network."

Xin nodded, his jaw tightening. He set the broken guitar down gently, as if laying a part of his past to rest. "Let's go."

---

The hotel where Marcus was staying was a modest establishment, its façade unassuming and its security lax. For Xin and Belial, slipping inside was child's play. Belial's battle art allowed him to move with unnatural speed and precision, while Xin's "hax"—a unique ability to manipulate data and systems—disabled the security cameras and alarms with ease. They moved like shadows, unseen and unheard, their presence known only to the night itself.

They reached Marcus's room on the second floor, the door slightly ajar. Inside, the room was dimly lit, the faint glow of a nightlight casting long shadows across the walls. A man in a robe sat at a small table, a glass of wine in his hand. He looked relaxed, unaware of the danger lurking just beyond his door.

Marcus was not a fighter. He was a businessman, a negotiator. His strength lay in his connections, in his ability to turn words into weapons and deals into shields. He had spent years carefully navigating the intricate web of alliances, betrayals, and silent agreements that ruled the underbelly of the corporate world. But in all his calculations, in all his meticulously crafted contingency plans, he had never accounted for this.

He had hired a B-rank guard to stand watch outside his room, a man supposedly trained to handle threats with efficiency. But efficiency meant nothing when faced with the likes of Xin and Belial. The guard had barely had time to react before he was struck down, left unconscious in the dimly lit hallway, his weapon still holstered. A testament to how utterly outclassed he had been.

Marcus had no idea how they had bypassed his security measures. His penthouse was fortified with the latest surveillance technology, biometric scanners, and silent alarms linked directly to his personal security team. And yet, none of it had mattered. The moment he had heard the faintest whisper of movement behind him, it had already been too late.

As he raised the glass of expensive bourbon to his lips, a cold sensation halted him mid-motion. A blade, impossibly sharp, pressed against his throat. His entire body stiffened. The glass slipped from his fingers, hitting the marble floor with a delicate, crystalline shatter. The scent of alcohol mixed with the cold dread seeping into his bones.

A strangled scream tore from his throat, but it was swallowed by the oppressive silence of the room. The very walls seemed to absorb the sound, making it feel as though no one would hear him even if he screamed at the top of his lungs.

"There's nowhere to run," a voice whispered in his ear, calm and menacing.

Marcus's heart pounded against his ribs. His mind raced, struggling to comprehend the situation. He had known his line of work came with risks, but he had always operated under the belief that his wealth and influence would shield him from direct confrontation. He was the man behind the curtain, pulling strings from the safety of his domain. He was not meant to be a pawn caught in a game he did not control.

"I-I have guards," he stammered, grasping for any semblance of authority. "They'll be here any second."

"No one will hear you," another voice responded, this one coming from the shadows in front of him. It was Xin. Even in the dim light, Marcus recognized the unmistakable silhouette of the assassin. Precise, controlled, deadly.

Marcus tried to move, to elbow the person holding the blade at his throat, but his arm passed through empty air. A phantom. The blade remained, steady and unwavering. Whoever was holding it knew exactly how to keep him trapped without giving him the slightest chance to escape.

"Where is Lyon Inc. operating?" Xin asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

Lyon Inc. The name alone sent a fresh wave of terror through Marcus's system. His ties to the shadowy organization were tenuous at best, but he knew enough to realize that any betrayal would result in consequences far worse than death. He swallowed hard, his throat pressing against the blade.

"I-I don't know!" he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of the moment.

The blade pressed harder, a whisper-thin line of pain blooming at his neck. Marcus gasped, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. He felt a bead of warm blood trickle down his skin.

"Think carefully," Xin warned, his tone carrying the finality of a guillotine's drop. "Your next words could be your last."

Marcus's mind raced, a storm of fear and calculations colliding within him. If he gave them the information they wanted, he would be signing his own death warrant at the hands of Lyon Inc. If he refused, he would die here and now, his body left as a grim reminder of his foolish attempts to straddle both sides of the conflict. He was trapped, and the walls were closing in fast.

He hesitated. "I… I can tell you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "But you have to promise you'll let me go."

Xin's eyes narrowed. "You're in no position to negotiate."

The room fell into an eerie silence. The tension was thick enough to suffocate. Marcus could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, a frantic rhythm that echoed his spiraling desperation.

"If I tell you, Lyon Inc. will kill me," he said, his voice steadier now, though his hands trembled. "You might be able to get past my security, but you don't understand what they're capable of. If they find out I talked, my death will be the least of my worries."

Xin exchanged a glance with the unseen figure behind Marcus. A silent conversation passed between them, too quick for Marcus to decipher. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Xin spoke.

"We can protect you," he said.

Marcus let out a dry, humorless laugh. "No one can protect me from them."

Xin stepped closer, the dim light casting sharp shadows across his face. "You don't have a choice. Either you tell us, or you die here. Right now."

Marcus clenched his fists. His options were grim, but he had always been a survivor. If there was even the slightest chance of escaping this nightmare with his life, he had to take it.